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stay with me
A breathless, propulsive look into the caustic sides of love, from the beloved Norwegian winner of the PEN translation prize and National Book Award Finalist
“What is so impressive is Ørstavik's ability to capture — with precision, candor and, indeed, tenacity — her shifting sense of self, as the foundations on which it rests crumble with every passing moment.” — Toby Lichtig, The Wall Street Journal
Fear is a second skin for the unnamed narrator of Hanne Ørstavik’s Stay With Me. A successful writer at 53, her father may be a frail twig, but the fear from her past, and of her father's rage, still envelopes her.
In urgent prose, the contours of her life a 12-year marriage, the death of her lover L, her troubled relationship with M — 15 years her junior and vexed with an all-too-familiar rage. We waver between our narrator’s life and the life of Judith, the protagonist of her nascent novel. Judith is a Norwegian costume designer who falls in love with Myrto, a conductor in an orchestra, who she moves with to Minneapolis. Pulled between the cities of Minneapolis, Oslo, and Milan, and the voice of Judith and her own, our narrator writes with an unparalleled emotional intimacy.
What results is the recursive voice of someone gasping for Who are Pappa, and M, without their rage? Who am I, without my fear? Who am I reaching for, when I reach for Judith? With Martin Aikten’s careful translation, Hanne Ørstavik unravels the binds that fasten us to those we love — why we return despite immeasurable pain, and why we finally, justly, leave.
“What is so impressive is Ørstavik's ability to capture — with precision, candor and, indeed, tenacity — her shifting sense of self, as the foundations on which it rests crumble with every passing moment.” — Toby Lichtig, The Wall Street Journal
Fear is a second skin for the unnamed narrator of Hanne Ørstavik’s Stay With Me. A successful writer at 53, her father may be a frail twig, but the fear from her past, and of her father's rage, still envelopes her.
In urgent prose, the contours of her life a 12-year marriage, the death of her lover L, her troubled relationship with M — 15 years her junior and vexed with an all-too-familiar rage. We waver between our narrator’s life and the life of Judith, the protagonist of her nascent novel. Judith is a Norwegian costume designer who falls in love with Myrto, a conductor in an orchestra, who she moves with to Minneapolis. Pulled between the cities of Minneapolis, Oslo, and Milan, and the voice of Judith and her own, our narrator writes with an unparalleled emotional intimacy.
What results is the recursive voice of someone gasping for Who are Pappa, and M, without their rage? Who am I, without my fear? Who am I reaching for, when I reach for Judith? With Martin Aikten’s careful translation, Hanne Ørstavik unravels the binds that fasten us to those we love — why we return despite immeasurable pain, and why we finally, justly, leave.
279 pages, Kindle Edition
First published April 17, 2023
42 people are currently reading
876 people want to read
About the author
Hanne Ørstavik
36 books193 followersHanne Ørstavik (born 28 November 1969) is a Norwegian writer. She was born in Tana in Finnmark province in the far north of Norway, and moved to Oslo at the age of 16. Her parents are Wenche Ørstavik and Gunnar Ørstavik. She has two brothers, Paul Ørstavik and Sakse Ørstavik.She has one daughter, Mari Ørstavik. She has two nieces, Maisie and Helena, and two nephews, Murphy and Thomas. With the publication of the novel Hakk (Cut) in 1994, Ørstavik embarked on a career that would make her one of the most remarkable and admired authors in Norwegian contemporary literature. Her literary breakthrough came three years later with the publication of Kjærlighet (Love<?i>), which in 2006 was voted the 6th best Norwegian book of the last 25 years in a prestigious contest in Dagbladet. Since then she has written several acclaimed and much discussed novels and received a host of literary prizes.
In 2002, she was awarded the Dobloug Prize for her literary works, and in 2004, the Brage Prize for the novel Presten.
Ørstavik’s books have been translated into 15 languages.
(from Wikipedia)
In 2002, she was awarded the Dobloug Prize for her literary works, and in 2004, the Brage Prize for the novel Presten.
Ørstavik’s books have been translated into 15 languages.
(from Wikipedia)
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 50 reviews
October 12, 2024
Så vakkert skreve.
November 10, 2024
99th book of 2024.
I just read Ørstavik's Love and went straight into this one. I'd never heard of her until I read her name in Knausgaard's sixth volume, where they are photographed together at a book festival. Interestingly, I guess this a Karl Ove mention, in these very pages: 'Knaus describing you in Book Six'. Norwegians mentioning Norwegians. This is about a relationship with a younger man and I found it lesser to the aforementioned book of Ørstavik. Ironically, it explores love more overtly than Love: particularly how we experience love in our childhood affects our experiences of love in adulthood. Those who are victims of violence in childhood are more likely to be violent. It is about the love that is passed down, or the lack of love. It's meandering, plotless, like Love but considering less impressive. It reminds me of other books about affairs, like the recent Booker-winner Kairos, for example.
I just read Ørstavik's Love and went straight into this one. I'd never heard of her until I read her name in Knausgaard's sixth volume, where they are photographed together at a book festival. Interestingly, I guess this a Karl Ove mention, in these very pages: 'Knaus describing you in Book Six'. Norwegians mentioning Norwegians. This is about a relationship with a younger man and I found it lesser to the aforementioned book of Ørstavik. Ironically, it explores love more overtly than Love: particularly how we experience love in our childhood affects our experiences of love in adulthood. Those who are victims of violence in childhood are more likely to be violent. It is about the love that is passed down, or the lack of love. It's meandering, plotless, like Love but considering less impressive. It reminds me of other books about affairs, like the recent Booker-winner Kairos, for example.
June 14, 2023
Det blir tydelig at Ørstavik har turt å møte det lille redde barnet i seg selv som bor i hun selv. Først og fremst, før man kan ha en relasjon til andre, må man kunne ha en relasjon til seg selv og tørre å
møte det lille barnet i seg selv. Ørstavik har lest sin Gabor Maté kan det virke som, og har gjort en introspektiv reise gjennom både psykoanalyse og mdma, og hun tar med leseren inn på en så sårbar og ærlig måte. Hun forteller det som må fortelles, det som trengs å komme ut.
«Det er så mye jeg vet og kan, men så lite jeg forstår»
Språket i romanen er finurlig og uten unødig fyllord. Slik som innholdet, alt som er der kjennes nødvendig å ha med.
møte det lille barnet i seg selv. Ørstavik har lest sin Gabor Maté kan det virke som, og har gjort en introspektiv reise gjennom både psykoanalyse og mdma, og hun tar med leseren inn på en så sårbar og ærlig måte. Hun forteller det som må fortelles, det som trengs å komme ut.
«Det er så mye jeg vet og kan, men så lite jeg forstår»
Språket i romanen er finurlig og uten unødig fyllord. Slik som innholdet, alt som er der kjennes nødvendig å ha med.
September 12, 2024
Perhaps Judith’s a clearer picture of me in the novel than the first-person narrator is, my notebook says.
Stay With Me (2024) is Martin Aitken's translation of Bli hos meg (2023) by Hanne Ørstavik.
This was the author's 14th novel (or possibly 16th depending on what one counts as a novel) in the original but the 5th I'm aware of in English (see below).
And following the book Ørstavik was awarded the Gyldendalprisen, awarded every two years for an author's body of work, joining a very impresssive list of past winners including Dag Solstad, Jon Fosse, Roy Jacobsen, Vigdis Hjorth, Karl Ove Knausgård and Per Petterson. The citation from the judges can be found, translated, here, and Stay With Me was the work that convinced the jury of the award.
This novel followed on from Ti Amo, and both novels have at their heart a real-life loss. In June 2020, Hanne Ørstavik's husband, Luigi Spagnol died of cancer, a publisher, translator and painter, perhaps best known for bringing Harry Potter into Italian before it became world famous. The two had been together around four years, for half of which Spagnol had been ill with the condition.
Ti Amo - which was arguably a non-fictional work, rather than a novel - told the story of his death, whereas this novel. more fictionalised, is set afterwards. As the narrator tells us in the opening chapter:
Four years it lasted, during the last two L was ill, and then he died. That’s two years ago now. A year later I met M. But even before L died, I knew I was going to write this novel. I’ve known it was there, I just never got started, I’ve waited and waited for it to open itself out to me and take me in, I’ve waited like mad for it to start happening.
Although the novel has an unusual and fascinating format. The first person narrator's life appears to be based closely on Ørstavik's own, but her story is interweaved with that of a fictional story she is writing, off a woman called Judith.
Both women, in their early 50s, have suffered the sudden loss of a partner, one they had lived with for a few intense and happy years, and both are entering into a relationship with a younger man.
For Judith, a Norwegian costume designer, her partner was Myrto, a conductor, and she is living in Minneapolis, the city they had moved to shortly before his death. She meets Matt, a much younger man, in his late teens, first when he brings her some photos of Myrto his mother had taken, then when she visits him in the trailer park where he and his mother live, to thank her, the two end up in a relationship.
For the narrator it is M., a man in his 30s who she meets in the flats in Italy where she lived with L at the time of his death, someone from a very different background and seemingly little interest in her writing career:
He doesn't say show me your books. Even though they're all on the shelf in the bedroom, the bottom shelf, like in Oslo.
He never says I'm proud of you when I get translated into a new language or send him a video from the reception in my honour high up among the skyscrapers in New York. He has the three that have been translated into Italian, the two that are novels he's only skimmed, the one I wrote when L was ill he's read twice, as if it's something he can apply, something that's real life.
And this is a much more troubled relationship, one built on fear, and inherited trauma, both having violent fathers. His flashes of a violent temper trigger her fears, while her drinking triggers his:
Who am I, when I’m not afraid.
[…]
It’s like I’m struggling to understand, the whole time. What are we doing? What are we doing here? I think I just didn’t get the point of anything the whole time I was growing up. Why live, if there’s no joy? If life isn’t good, if there’s no softness to it, if there’s no – love?
And I ask myself – what were we supposed to have been if we hadn’t been afraid? It’s almost as if there’s something missing, something else to have been instead. That too seems strange as I write it down, but it’s what I’m thinking: if we hadn’t been scared, if being scared had suddenly stopped, what would we have been instead?
When fear has become one’s inner layer, the part of you that’s real. If that’s then taken away: what’s left is like an enormous crater. Fear is total. Fear is water coming in everywhere, in every nook and cranny, under every bed. The girl I was, when she was ten for instance, if the fear she knew, if the reason for that fear, the most obvious reason, Pappa, hadn’t been there any more, if Pappa had died or Mamma had left him and taken me with her, would I not have been afraid any more? What would I have been then? Who am I, when I’m not afraid?
The first person authorial(?) narration also includes various references to film stars and novels, most notably Marilyn Munroe and the novels of Per Olov Enquist.
Structurally this is an impressive work with powerful prose, but it wasn't entirely successful for me. I might say the authorial parts felt too personal, but that was even more true of Ti Amo, so it might be better to say this was a story (of a dysfunctional relationship between two people who had suffered from violent fathers) which resonated less with me; and the Judith sections felt underdone.
So 3 stars for me but one I am sure will resonate more with other readers.
Bibliography of English Translations
This is the fourth of the author's works to appear in English:
The first, translated by Deborah Dawkin, was The Blue Room, published by Peirene Press in 2014, from the original Like sant som jeg er virkelig (1999).
The second, Love, translated by Martin Aitken from the 1997 novel Kjærlighet, was published in the US by Archipelago Books in 2018 and in the UK by And Other Stories in 2019. The book was a Finalist (i.e. shortlisted) in the US National Book Awards for Translated Literature, and in the UK shortlisted for the Republic of Consciousness Prize, and Aitken won the 2019 PEN Translation Prize: my review.
The Pastor, also translated by Martin Aitken, was the third, from the original Presten (2004) which won both the Klassekampen's Literary Award and Brage Prize - my review - which was only published in the US by Archipelago.
Ti Amo, translated by Martin Aitken from Ti Amo (2020) was published in 2022 by And Other Stories in the UK and in the US by Archipelago Books in 2018. My review
Stay With Me (2024) is Martin Aitken's translation of Bli hos meg (2023) by Hanne Ørstavik.
This was the author's 14th novel (or possibly 16th depending on what one counts as a novel) in the original but the 5th I'm aware of in English (see below).
And following the book Ørstavik was awarded the Gyldendalprisen, awarded every two years for an author's body of work, joining a very impresssive list of past winners including Dag Solstad, Jon Fosse, Roy Jacobsen, Vigdis Hjorth, Karl Ove Knausgård and Per Petterson. The citation from the judges can be found, translated, here, and Stay With Me was the work that convinced the jury of the award.
This novel followed on from Ti Amo, and both novels have at their heart a real-life loss. In June 2020, Hanne Ørstavik's husband, Luigi Spagnol died of cancer, a publisher, translator and painter, perhaps best known for bringing Harry Potter into Italian before it became world famous. The two had been together around four years, for half of which Spagnol had been ill with the condition.
Ti Amo - which was arguably a non-fictional work, rather than a novel - told the story of his death, whereas this novel. more fictionalised, is set afterwards. As the narrator tells us in the opening chapter:
Four years it lasted, during the last two L was ill, and then he died. That’s two years ago now. A year later I met M. But even before L died, I knew I was going to write this novel. I’ve known it was there, I just never got started, I’ve waited and waited for it to open itself out to me and take me in, I’ve waited like mad for it to start happening.
Although the novel has an unusual and fascinating format. The first person narrator's life appears to be based closely on Ørstavik's own, but her story is interweaved with that of a fictional story she is writing, off a woman called Judith.
Both women, in their early 50s, have suffered the sudden loss of a partner, one they had lived with for a few intense and happy years, and both are entering into a relationship with a younger man.
For Judith, a Norwegian costume designer, her partner was Myrto, a conductor, and she is living in Minneapolis, the city they had moved to shortly before his death. She meets Matt, a much younger man, in his late teens, first when he brings her some photos of Myrto his mother had taken, then when she visits him in the trailer park where he and his mother live, to thank her, the two end up in a relationship.
For the narrator it is M., a man in his 30s who she meets in the flats in Italy where she lived with L at the time of his death, someone from a very different background and seemingly little interest in her writing career:
He doesn't say show me your books. Even though they're all on the shelf in the bedroom, the bottom shelf, like in Oslo.
He never says I'm proud of you when I get translated into a new language or send him a video from the reception in my honour high up among the skyscrapers in New York. He has the three that have been translated into Italian, the two that are novels he's only skimmed, the one I wrote when L was ill he's read twice, as if it's something he can apply, something that's real life.
And this is a much more troubled relationship, one built on fear, and inherited trauma, both having violent fathers. His flashes of a violent temper trigger her fears, while her drinking triggers his:
Who am I, when I’m not afraid.
[…]
It’s like I’m struggling to understand, the whole time. What are we doing? What are we doing here? I think I just didn’t get the point of anything the whole time I was growing up. Why live, if there’s no joy? If life isn’t good, if there’s no softness to it, if there’s no – love?
And I ask myself – what were we supposed to have been if we hadn’t been afraid? It’s almost as if there’s something missing, something else to have been instead. That too seems strange as I write it down, but it’s what I’m thinking: if we hadn’t been scared, if being scared had suddenly stopped, what would we have been instead?
When fear has become one’s inner layer, the part of you that’s real. If that’s then taken away: what’s left is like an enormous crater. Fear is total. Fear is water coming in everywhere, in every nook and cranny, under every bed. The girl I was, when she was ten for instance, if the fear she knew, if the reason for that fear, the most obvious reason, Pappa, hadn’t been there any more, if Pappa had died or Mamma had left him and taken me with her, would I not have been afraid any more? What would I have been then? Who am I, when I’m not afraid?
The first person authorial(?) narration also includes various references to film stars and novels, most notably Marilyn Munroe and the novels of Per Olov Enquist.
Structurally this is an impressive work with powerful prose, but it wasn't entirely successful for me. I might say the authorial parts felt too personal, but that was even more true of Ti Amo, so it might be better to say this was a story (of a dysfunctional relationship between two people who had suffered from violent fathers) which resonated less with me; and the Judith sections felt underdone.
So 3 stars for me but one I am sure will resonate more with other readers.
Bibliography of English Translations
This is the fourth of the author's works to appear in English:
The first, translated by Deborah Dawkin, was The Blue Room, published by Peirene Press in 2014, from the original Like sant som jeg er virkelig (1999).
The second, Love, translated by Martin Aitken from the 1997 novel Kjærlighet, was published in the US by Archipelago Books in 2018 and in the UK by And Other Stories in 2019. The book was a Finalist (i.e. shortlisted) in the US National Book Awards for Translated Literature, and in the UK shortlisted for the Republic of Consciousness Prize, and Aitken won the 2019 PEN Translation Prize: my review.
The Pastor, also translated by Martin Aitken, was the third, from the original Presten (2004) which won both the Klassekampen's Literary Award and Brage Prize - my review - which was only published in the US by Archipelago.
Ti Amo, translated by Martin Aitken from Ti Amo (2020) was published in 2022 by And Other Stories in the UK and in the US by Archipelago Books in 2018. My review
September 1, 2023
Bøkene til Hanne Ørstavik treffer meg. De indre monologene og karakterenes tanker griper meg så intenst at jeg ikke kan legge boken fra meg før jeg har lest den ferdig. Temaene som berøres – isolasjon, ensomhet og savn – resonnerer dypt i meg. Ørstavik formidler disse følelsene på en så intens og engasjerende måte at leseopplevelsen blir fullstendig oppslukende.
Ingen andre norske forfattere evner å fange meg inn i sine bøker på samme vis som Ørstavik gjør. Hennes evne til å utforske komplekse emosjonelle tilstander med en slik dyptgående innsikt er enestående. Boken hennes nesten brenner i hendene mine, slik er intensiteten i skildringene.
Språket i bøkene hennes er ofte kortfattet og presist, samtidig som det besitter en beskrivende og sanselig kraft. Bruken av metaforer og symboler gir fortellingene et ekstra lag av dybde. Atmosfæren som skapes er så skjør og sår, som glass som likevel utstråler en unik skjønnhet—måten hun skildrer nordisk natur inn i tekstene, de kalde gufsene jeg får av beskrivelsene av vinden som kastes over vidda i nord. Hun lille jenta som spør seg selv hvorfor hun er så redd alltid. Måten hun fanger kjærlighet på, den kjærligheten en savner å finne hos den andre. Det er mye ved bøkene til Ørstavik som treffer meg. Jeg leser alt Hanne Ørstavik skriver.
Ingen andre norske forfattere evner å fange meg inn i sine bøker på samme vis som Ørstavik gjør. Hennes evne til å utforske komplekse emosjonelle tilstander med en slik dyptgående innsikt er enestående. Boken hennes nesten brenner i hendene mine, slik er intensiteten i skildringene.
Språket i bøkene hennes er ofte kortfattet og presist, samtidig som det besitter en beskrivende og sanselig kraft. Bruken av metaforer og symboler gir fortellingene et ekstra lag av dybde. Atmosfæren som skapes er så skjør og sår, som glass som likevel utstråler en unik skjønnhet—måten hun skildrer nordisk natur inn i tekstene, de kalde gufsene jeg får av beskrivelsene av vinden som kastes over vidda i nord. Hun lille jenta som spør seg selv hvorfor hun er så redd alltid. Måten hun fanger kjærlighet på, den kjærligheten en savner å finne hos den andre. Det er mye ved bøkene til Ørstavik som treffer meg. Jeg leser alt Hanne Ørstavik skriver.
April 24, 2025
ørstavik is so concerned with gaps: between language and understanding, between intent and impact, between the conscious and the subconscious, between what we need from those we love and what they can give us. this book felt like trudging through a hostile landscape for hours, feeling the world constrict steadily. briefy, suddenly, you're offered relief, one breath in an open clearing, before she plunges you back into the weeds. murky often, but unsubtle! personally still partial to Love and The Pastor but I'll keep reading anything she has to offer
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June 12, 2023Jeg liker alltid språket til Hanne Ørstavik. Slik er det her også. Hun blander sammen flere historier, og det kan til tider være litt vanskelig å orientere seg i teksten. Men jeg lar meg gjerne flyte med. Leser om et "jeg" som er veldig lik forfatteren, slik jeg kjenner henne. Hun skriver også om en bok "jeg"et skriver. Handlingen er fra USA, om ei som har mista mannen sin. Han var komponist og det handler om sorg og musikk og en ny ung mann som kommer inn i livet hennes.
Ung mann kommer også inn i livet til "jeg"-et. Han er 17 år yngre. Dette er i Italia. Han vil ikke fortelle familien sin om henne, så de har et forhold i det skjulte. Han er til tider sint. Og er det noe "jeg" ikke takler, så er det sinte folk. Vi får høre om oppveksten hennes med en far som blir sint og som slår. Det gjør at hun har med seg redsel som en erfaring og som en tilstand som ofte dukker opp. Når man er redd, klarer men ikke å leve skikkelig.
Forholdet deres er turbulent. Hun drikker en del og det liker han dårlig. Stemningen går dermed som en karusell.
Synsvinkelen har også preg av karusell. Som leser kastes jeg mellom de ulike fortellerne, til nåtid og fortid. Innimellom kommer filosofiske avsnitt som jeg liker godt. Jeg forstår ikke alt, men jeg liker å lese boka.
Jeg leste alt hun skrev fram til ca 2006. Nå har jeg fått satt av mer tid til lesing er på sporet igjen. Jeg kjenner igjen innholdet av de tidlige bøkene i det hun skriver i denne. Å skrive selvbiografisk er problematisk, synes jeg. Så jeg leser bøkene som om de er romaner og prøver å ikke henge for mye opp i hva som er sant eller ikke.
Ung mann kommer også inn i livet til "jeg"-et. Han er 17 år yngre. Dette er i Italia. Han vil ikke fortelle familien sin om henne, så de har et forhold i det skjulte. Han er til tider sint. Og er det noe "jeg" ikke takler, så er det sinte folk. Vi får høre om oppveksten hennes med en far som blir sint og som slår. Det gjør at hun har med seg redsel som en erfaring og som en tilstand som ofte dukker opp. Når man er redd, klarer men ikke å leve skikkelig.
Forholdet deres er turbulent. Hun drikker en del og det liker han dårlig. Stemningen går dermed som en karusell.
Synsvinkelen har også preg av karusell. Som leser kastes jeg mellom de ulike fortellerne, til nåtid og fortid. Innimellom kommer filosofiske avsnitt som jeg liker godt. Jeg forstår ikke alt, men jeg liker å lese boka.
Jeg leste alt hun skrev fram til ca 2006. Nå har jeg fått satt av mer tid til lesing er på sporet igjen. Jeg kjenner igjen innholdet av de tidlige bøkene i det hun skriver i denne. Å skrive selvbiografisk er problematisk, synes jeg. Så jeg leser bøkene som om de er romaner og prøver å ikke henge for mye opp i hva som er sant eller ikke.
August 22, 2024
Stay with Me follows a woman who after the death of her husband falls in love with a younger man named M. Despite being in a relationship with her, he constantly tells her he’s confused about what they are and what he wants from here and the book is basically all the worst parts of a situationship plus the man actually being completely awful and abusive. It really has the throes of a completely toxic relationship where they both treat each other disposably - abandoning each other multiple times in foreign places and walking out on each other just to then get back together when they feel like it. On the narrators side I think a lot of this can be put down to grief and not knowing how to deal with a sexual relationship after her late husband, but M was just always taking advantage of her as an older woman and being a complete dick and thinking he owed her nothing apart from good sex.
The story was really intriguing and I thought it was a great book I just don’t know if I gelled with the style of writing. It’s very bitty and doesn’t have much dialogue and relies heavily on scattered bits of prose to tell the story so it’s quite easy to get lost in it sometimes. But I felt more emotionally connected to this book than Ti Amo which is the other one of her’s that I have read, so I would recommend this book if you enjoy reading about toxic relationships.
The story was really intriguing and I thought it was a great book I just don’t know if I gelled with the style of writing. It’s very bitty and doesn’t have much dialogue and relies heavily on scattered bits of prose to tell the story so it’s quite easy to get lost in it sometimes. But I felt more emotionally connected to this book than Ti Amo which is the other one of her’s that I have read, so I would recommend this book if you enjoy reading about toxic relationships.
August 25, 2025
“How do we know who's going to turn out to be violent, the lecturer asks…eventually I put my hand up and say, If you were a victim of violence yourself... and I remember him, the lecturer, looking at me as if in disbelief, as if only then I'd become visible to him, Yes, he says. Yes. And how is it that I possess that knowledge, I've betrayed myself, and at the same time it's as if all of us who know what it's like to have that sort of thing going on at home, it's as if suddenly there's a connection between us in that room, for the briefest of moments, I don't know who any of the others are, but I do know that they exist, and at that exact point in time we gaze into that thing together, that thing which is clear to us, at the very front of our days, afraid to death, silent and radiant.”
I connected with this book very strongly, a very fitting and accurate depiction of what it’s like to grow up afraid and around violence, and carry that fear with you into your adult life
I connected with this book very strongly, a very fitting and accurate depiction of what it’s like to grow up afraid and around violence, and carry that fear with you into your adult life
October 23, 2023
Dnf: page 18.
I’ve always wanted to try Ørstavik’s books but unfortunately this fell a bit flat for me? But I can understand why people love her, her writing is good. This is why it was not a 1 star for me. Note: I read only 18 pages. The need to put it down and ‘dnf’ it instead of sitting through 200+ pages is the better choice for me.
Hopefully this will be someone else’s next favorite book.
Happy reading!♥️
I’ve always wanted to try Ørstavik’s books but unfortunately this fell a bit flat for me? But I can understand why people love her, her writing is good. This is why it was not a 1 star for me. Note: I read only 18 pages. The need to put it down and ‘dnf’ it instead of sitting through 200+ pages is the better choice for me.
Hopefully this will be someone else’s next favorite book.
Happy reading!♥️
December 20, 2024
started off the year by reading ‘ti amo’ so this seemed a fitting way to end 2024. and definitely glad i read ‘ti amo’ prior to reading this as it feels like quite a natural continuation, definitely recommend checking it out first before reading this!
‘stay with me’ is a beautifully written work, one which is incredibly touching & really dives into some pretty difficult topics. grief, generational trauma, domestic abuse etc etc & how that all correlates back to Ørstavik’s understanding of love. love is at its core what Ørstavik’s books (from the ones i’ve read) are about. ‘stay with me’ feels very open yet very confused about the topic. it’s heart wrenching stuff to read her correlations between love & fear. fear is always there, always prevalent. is true love really true love at all if there is an element of fear under the surface? that discussion is what i felt really drove this book forward but there can be quite a lot of other nuances to dissect from the text!
the addition of a fictional subplot (judith) i felt both boosted & hampered the overall story. i think for the first half it somewhat took me out of rhythm, yet by about halfway i found the transitions far more seamless. maybe on a 2nd read i would find no issues with the two narratives weaving in & out of each other? but i think for some it could cause a bit of confusion!
you’re always going to feel something by the time you finish a Ørstavik piece. it’s all very gripping, very real with so much to say, lots to dig out. 4⭐️ instead of 5⭐️ simply because of my starting issues with the judith subplot, but still a great read!
‘stay with me’ is a beautifully written work, one which is incredibly touching & really dives into some pretty difficult topics. grief, generational trauma, domestic abuse etc etc & how that all correlates back to Ørstavik’s understanding of love. love is at its core what Ørstavik’s books (from the ones i’ve read) are about. ‘stay with me’ feels very open yet very confused about the topic. it’s heart wrenching stuff to read her correlations between love & fear. fear is always there, always prevalent. is true love really true love at all if there is an element of fear under the surface? that discussion is what i felt really drove this book forward but there can be quite a lot of other nuances to dissect from the text!
the addition of a fictional subplot (judith) i felt both boosted & hampered the overall story. i think for the first half it somewhat took me out of rhythm, yet by about halfway i found the transitions far more seamless. maybe on a 2nd read i would find no issues with the two narratives weaving in & out of each other? but i think for some it could cause a bit of confusion!
you’re always going to feel something by the time you finish a Ørstavik piece. it’s all very gripping, very real with so much to say, lots to dig out. 4⭐️ instead of 5⭐️ simply because of my starting issues with the judith subplot, but still a great read!
April 23, 2025
Hanne Ørstavik's Stay With Me is a deeply affecting exploration of memory, attachment, loss, and the complexities of human connection that will resonate with thoughtful readers. As the characters struggle and their relationships unfold, readers are drawn into a profound exploration of love's origins and its fragility. Readers familiar with Ørstavik’s body of work will recognize her gift for crafting palpable absence, longing, and ineffability.
Interwoven within the narrative are poignant, almost dreamlike passages that offer a direct window into the narrator's internal landscape. These relatable moments – the beauty of snow falling between streetlights, a strap moving over a bump on a shoulder, the weight of a text to a lover – are filled with evocative imagery and questioning, amplifying the novel's themes of uncertainty and the search for meaning in everyday moments.
Ørstavik's ingenuity also shines through the novel’s metafictional structure, which fluidly shifts between the narrator's present reflections and the unfolding story of another woman – a story the narrator herself is writing. This creates a reading experience that is both dissociative and deeply integrative, mirroring the characters' inner lives and fostering empathy.
Stay With Me is a rewarding and thought-provoking read that illuminates the intricate contours of love, loss, and the ever-evolving nature of self. Ørstavik's beautiful and riveting prose leaves a lasting impression, inviting readers to contemplate the power and fragility of human experience laid prostrate to love, long after turning the final page.
Interwoven within the narrative are poignant, almost dreamlike passages that offer a direct window into the narrator's internal landscape. These relatable moments – the beauty of snow falling between streetlights, a strap moving over a bump on a shoulder, the weight of a text to a lover – are filled with evocative imagery and questioning, amplifying the novel's themes of uncertainty and the search for meaning in everyday moments.
Ørstavik's ingenuity also shines through the novel’s metafictional structure, which fluidly shifts between the narrator's present reflections and the unfolding story of another woman – a story the narrator herself is writing. This creates a reading experience that is both dissociative and deeply integrative, mirroring the characters' inner lives and fostering empathy.
Stay With Me is a rewarding and thought-provoking read that illuminates the intricate contours of love, loss, and the ever-evolving nature of self. Ørstavik's beautiful and riveting prose leaves a lasting impression, inviting readers to contemplate the power and fragility of human experience laid prostrate to love, long after turning the final page.
December 11, 2025
4.5. Accidental double feature on yearning, but this seems a much more dangerous kind. The love that in trying strips you of yourself, bleeds you dry. The cycles of abuse, the hope and need that keeps you. Sparse, existential, vaguely religious, containing all the while “this undercurrent of lurking death.” Delicate, resolved. Unequivocally Norwegian.
Best in its cautious interrogation of memory and perception: storytelling as a mode of accommodation, taken here too far, but not to be discarded, only also directed inward (physician, heal thyself). No surprise whatsoever to discover our author is a therapist. A therapistic if not especially therapeutic novel.
Archipelago Books a new discovery for me, but so far batting a thousand. “Fog at Noon” by Tomás González next, certain to be lighter fare.
Best in its cautious interrogation of memory and perception: storytelling as a mode of accommodation, taken here too far, but not to be discarded, only also directed inward (physician, heal thyself). No surprise whatsoever to discover our author is a therapist. A therapistic if not especially therapeutic novel.
Archipelago Books a new discovery for me, but so far batting a thousand. “Fog at Noon” by Tomás González next, certain to be lighter fare.
March 5, 2025
I have not read LOVE, another novel from this Norwegian author that I've heard great things about. But I thought this particular offering from the good folks at And Other Stories was just okay. There are some moving passages about longing and how living often emerges quite by accident when we dare to take these feelings by the lapels. But I wanted to know more about the grief that the unnamed narrator felt for her dead husband. Her feelings of longing and her anger don't really have enough time to ferment here. Which is probably part of the point. But I really wanted more insights into this woman's behavior.
October 5, 2025
Min første Ørstavik-roman, og synes språket var imponerende, nøkternt men samtidig så beskrivende. Virker som alt som er med er nøye gjennomtenkt. Synes skildringene om kjærlighet, frykt og barndom også var veldig gode og kloke, men synes parallellhistorien forfatteren jobbet med ikke ga så mye ekstra.
January 23, 2025
Readable but it didn't really grab me. I found the stuff with the narrator's father to be a lot more interesting than the romance aspect. Older woman/younger man relationships seem to be in vogue at the moment, but I'm not sure they have much dramatic potential, and I'm not sure this really said anything new as a novel.
November 4, 2025
Need to stop outsourcing my emotional homework to depressed Norwegians.
December 29, 2025
I enjoyed it a lot, the author has a very interesting voice. For my own taste, I'm not certain the para story within the story served enough purpose, but then Hanne Ørstavik is a successful author, and I am not, so happy to admit I might be wrong in that. I felt it very relatable in a number of ways that aren't particularly enjoyable, but meaningful all the same
December 12, 2024
Ørstavik is meant to be one of Norway’s top writers, but the consensus on this one (the first of hers I’ve read) seems to be that it’s one of her weaker books. The narrator has lost her husband and quite soon after, begins to see a younger man, whose anger issues bring back childhood memories of the narrator’s father’s violent outbursts.
Our narrator is also writing a (tedious, not fleshed out — the protagonist claims writers’ block — and ultimately, in the character’s personal life choices, quite disconcerting) novel about another woman who has lost her husband.
There are a couple of really great little moments here that kept me reading, but they’re few and far between. A lot of this felt like notes for a novel.
The grand total of all this is really: who cares? Sadly, I did not.
Our narrator is also writing a (tedious, not fleshed out — the protagonist claims writers’ block — and ultimately, in the character’s personal life choices, quite disconcerting) novel about another woman who has lost her husband.
There are a couple of really great little moments here that kept me reading, but they’re few and far between. A lot of this felt like notes for a novel.
The grand total of all this is really: who cares? Sadly, I did not.
August 17, 2025
This is an unusual novel because of the number of levels on which the story exists.
The narrator is a woman living in Milan who lost her husband very suddenly a year before. She is haunted by memories of her father who was very strict with his children and abusive towards his wife. Her childhood was filled with the rage belonging to her father. Moving forward to the present, her father is old and alone and now she visits him regularly in the apartment where he lives in Oslo. They reflect on some of these issues from the past.
All well and good.
But the narrator is also writing a novel about a woman called Judith who moved to America from Italy. Her husband also died suddenly. She is left on her own in a strange country with a strong sense of being out of place, but also in a kind of directionless void.
The writer is talking about herself and the character of Judith whom she has created but in some sense does not seem fully in control of her creation.
The narrator begins a relationship with a man known only as M. While at times they seem very happy, this is not always the case. There is always something lurking behind, something not quite right. As we watch the relationship, we see more and more of the things that are wrong with it. We see M who has problems with anger. And so we see parallels with the all the problems of the narrators childhood trauma. There is one paragraph which captures this vividly:
There is another piece of narrative which wonderfully captures the narrator’s hurt and the disfunction of the relationship with her parents. I think it is worth quoting the whole page:
The narrator’s relationship with her own M was built on a strange attraction, since there were many things which made them feel incompatible. For example:
I enjoyed Stay with Me and it has certainly made me want to read more of Orstavik’s work. My only slight criticism might be that there were times when I was a little lost as to whose story I was in, as more and more we flicked back and forth between Judith and the narrator. On the flip side of this, what we were observing at a much more intimate distance was just how much some of the writer’s own life is used to create an imaginary character.
The narrator is a woman living in Milan who lost her husband very suddenly a year before. She is haunted by memories of her father who was very strict with his children and abusive towards his wife. Her childhood was filled with the rage belonging to her father. Moving forward to the present, her father is old and alone and now she visits him regularly in the apartment where he lives in Oslo. They reflect on some of these issues from the past.
All well and good.
But the narrator is also writing a novel about a woman called Judith who moved to America from Italy. Her husband also died suddenly. She is left on her own in a strange country with a strong sense of being out of place, but also in a kind of directionless void.
And now. Judith suspended. The landscape flat and without bounds. On the bridge, as she looks down into the river’s rushing water, its movement does not tug at her the way it did for me when I was nine or twelve or sixteen and longing to be away. There’s a point below that , which is where Judith is now. In the water, underneath it all, she lies on her back. She sees herself lying there, her eyes are open, but she doesn’t know what she sees.
Judith lost Myrto, but how long is she going to stand there looking down into that river. I want her to tear herself away and move on, but it’s not up to me to decide.
The writer is talking about herself and the character of Judith whom she has created but in some sense does not seem fully in control of her creation.
The narrator begins a relationship with a man known only as M. While at times they seem very happy, this is not always the case. There is always something lurking behind, something not quite right. As we watch the relationship, we see more and more of the things that are wrong with it. We see M who has problems with anger. And so we see parallels with the all the problems of the narrators childhood trauma. There is one paragraph which captures this vividly:
That’s how I’d go to bed at night, not knowing, and no one ever came to sit on the bed beside me, no one came and said anything at all, no one, and I would lie there and try to sleep, and there was only one way, the same way always: think about something good (birthday), think about it and hold it tight, don’t let the darkness in, but keep looking at the light ahead, no matter how dark it was all around, grip that good thing in both your hands, and don���t let go.
There is another piece of narrative which wonderfully captures the narrator’s hurt and the disfunction of the relationship with her parents. I think it is worth quoting the whole page:
In Milan there is a little church I go to, by the big canal, on the side that’s pedestrianised, the Chiesa di San Cristoforo, it takes me about twenty minutes and I’m there. The church is open all day and even if the canal area’s often quite busy with people, it’s nearly always empty. It’s from the twelfth century and there are still vestiges of the frescos from the period, or at least from a very long time ago, the interior all earthen colours and dim candlelight, while a Gregorian choir loops from a loudspeaker. I went to that church while L was ill and I’ve been going there ever since, a good place to set out for a little walk, the long line of the canal makes it easy to think, and then I’ll go in and sit down at the back somewhere, there’s only seven rows of benches, the altar’s an old grindstone resting on an iron frame, a white cloth to cover it, and when I sit down there, nearly every time, without having anticipated it, I start to cry.
I wrote about that in a chat with a girlfriend of mine on Messenger once, when L was ill, that I had a church I went to where I sat and cried, but then after I’d sent it I realised I’d been in the wrong chat and that it hadn’t gone to my friend but to a group chat with Mamma and Pappa, and I felt straight away how wrong it was, how far too intimate a thing it was to tell them about, crying on my own in a church, but this was before you could retract a message, so there was nothing I could do about it, it was sent and that was that.
I copy-pasted what I’d written and sent it to my friend too, and she read it and replied immediately, telling me how important it was to have such a place, and good for you. There was never any reply from Mamma or Pappa.
The narrator’s relationship with her own M was built on a strange attraction, since there were many things which made them feel incompatible. For example:
M knows nothing about classical music, he doesn’t know who Roald Dahl is either, whose books L translated, he’s never heard of Matilda or The Witches or Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and he still hasn’t read Mio, My Son, and when we talk I often think it’s as if language isn’t that connected to things in his world, whereas in mine everything’s all about capturing something in words, getting it said like it is, it’s as if he often just plucks his words from a tree without thought, without really looking at them.
I enjoyed Stay with Me and it has certainly made me want to read more of Orstavik’s work. My only slight criticism might be that there were times when I was a little lost as to whose story I was in, as more and more we flicked back and forth between Judith and the narrator. On the flip side of this, what we were observing at a much more intimate distance was just how much some of the writer’s own life is used to create an imaginary character.
August 26, 2024
Denne boken ble i overkant rotete for meg, med for mange fortellinger for min smak. Hadde foretrukket fortellingen til jeg-personen alene.
I tillegg var det til gjentakende irritasjon at forfatteren ikke skriver «som om han er», men «som er han». Hørt på lydbok ble dette for meg en unaturlig formulering (men forhåpentligvis hørte jeg feil).
I tillegg var det til gjentakende irritasjon at forfatteren ikke skriver «som om han er», men «som er han». Hørt på lydbok ble dette for meg en unaturlig formulering (men forhåpentligvis hørte jeg feil).
February 3, 2025
Not a fan of character’s names being abbreviated to a single letter, and the dual narrative of the Judith character just seemed underdone and unnecessary to me? Picked up some pace towards the end with some astute observations on the cycles of abuse and connecting with childhood selves, but just overall depressingly bleak and honestly too many commas.
September 6, 2025
This was bland. I didn’t enjoy the alternating timelines because there was not clear distinction of when they swapped.
November 13, 2025
Dette er første - og siste - boka av Hanne Ørstavik jeg leser. Og jeg innrømmer det med en gang, jeg har ikke lest den med vennlighet eller generøsitet. Jeg tror ikke det er noe i boka jeg har likt, eller hatt kontakt med, kjent igjen, kjent at dette angår meg. Boka angår Hanne Ørstavik, det handler om en kvinne, om mennesker jeg ikke liker.
Boka handler om som sagt om Hanne Ørstavik, en forfatter som prøver å skrive om en kvinne som har mista mannen sin, samtidig som hun skriver om seg sjøl (?) i et veldig destruktivt forhold.
Er ikke dette egentlig to bøker? En om Judith, en om Hanne? Og jeg klarer ikke helt å få de to delene til å henge sammen, bortsett fra at Judith og Hanne har et forhold til en yngre mann. Eller forhold, begge damene driver å pisker seg sjøl med at de har et forhold til en yngre mann.
Et par ganger i boka omtaler hun Sally Manns bilder. Og det slår meg at hun skriver sånn som hun forteller Sally Mann fotograferer, kun deler, ingen kontekst, poetisk, delvis, ingen forklaring. Er Sally Mann forbildet hennes?
Mot slutten av boka da hun kommer inn på dette med redselen hos oss sjøl i den andre, tenker jeg: «Er hun ikke sosionom?» Jeg slo det opp, hun er utdanna sosiolog: «Sosiologen har kunnskap om mennesket som individ og mennesket som en del av en gruppe, og bruker dette til å forstå hvordan mennesker fungerer sammen.»
Ikke en gang språklig liker jeg denne boka, enda norsk er språket mitt. Jeg grøsser over bruken av der og hvis - som minner meg om ord som dog. Siden jeg aldri har lest noe av henne tidligere veit jeg ikke om dette er stil hun pleier å holde seg med?
«Hun jenta jeg var, for eksempel da hun var ti, hvis redselen hun kjente, hvis grunnen til den redselen, den mest opplagte grunnen: pappa, ikke var der mer […]» s. 7
«[…] som var huset en diger skute […]», s. 22
«[…] som jobber han med sterke kjemikaler men det er ikke derfor […]», s. 33
Hun har også mange setninger uten komma før men, det er så mye og ofte at jeg tror det må være en slags stil hun har. Det er ikke alltid man trenger en komma før men, jeg lar det være fra tid til annen sjøl, men som i setningen over, er det galt å ikke ha komma.
«[…] som sa de mer […]», s. 95 - en setning som kan forståes veldig gammeldags i formen, og også som at noe sa dem mer. Hvorfor bruker hun ikke dem her? Det er bare forvirrende for ei som skriver radikalt bokmål sjøl.
«Som er det allerede langt over … », «som var hun en liten skikkelse» er et uttrykk som går igjen i teksten hennes. Det må være noe hun har bestemt seg for, at det er sånn hun skal skrive «som om det var». Som var det et eventyr.
Og seriøst?
«Som var det meningen at vi skulle treffes. Som har noe flettet kroppene våre sammen […] noe har insistert, inni all tid, på at før eller siden skulle det bli oss.», s. 39
Åh gosh. Så store følelser, jeg skjønner ikke hvordan det i 2025 (eller egentlig i 2023 da boka blei skrevet) å tegne kjærligheten med så store og overfladiske ord.
Jeg kommer ikke til å huske en eneste scene, en eneste ting fra boka. Om fjorten dager, eller tre måneder, når jeg skal fortelle om boka jeg ikke kommer til å huske tittelen på eller hva den handlet om, veit jeg at jeg aldri kommer til å lese Ørstavik igjen.
Boka blei kjøpt fordi alle snakker så varmt om bøkene hennes. Jeg aksepterer at det er jeg som er problemet her.
Boka handler om som sagt om Hanne Ørstavik, en forfatter som prøver å skrive om en kvinne som har mista mannen sin, samtidig som hun skriver om seg sjøl (?) i et veldig destruktivt forhold.
Er ikke dette egentlig to bøker? En om Judith, en om Hanne? Og jeg klarer ikke helt å få de to delene til å henge sammen, bortsett fra at Judith og Hanne har et forhold til en yngre mann. Eller forhold, begge damene driver å pisker seg sjøl med at de har et forhold til en yngre mann.
Et par ganger i boka omtaler hun Sally Manns bilder. Og det slår meg at hun skriver sånn som hun forteller Sally Mann fotograferer, kun deler, ingen kontekst, poetisk, delvis, ingen forklaring. Er Sally Mann forbildet hennes?
Mot slutten av boka da hun kommer inn på dette med redselen hos oss sjøl i den andre, tenker jeg: «Er hun ikke sosionom?» Jeg slo det opp, hun er utdanna sosiolog: «Sosiologen har kunnskap om mennesket som individ og mennesket som en del av en gruppe, og bruker dette til å forstå hvordan mennesker fungerer sammen.»
Ikke en gang språklig liker jeg denne boka, enda norsk er språket mitt. Jeg grøsser over bruken av der og hvis - som minner meg om ord som dog. Siden jeg aldri har lest noe av henne tidligere veit jeg ikke om dette er stil hun pleier å holde seg med?
«Hun jenta jeg var, for eksempel da hun var ti, hvis redselen hun kjente, hvis grunnen til den redselen, den mest opplagte grunnen: pappa, ikke var der mer […]» s. 7
«[…] som var huset en diger skute […]», s. 22
«[…] som jobber han med sterke kjemikaler men det er ikke derfor […]», s. 33
Hun har også mange setninger uten komma før men, det er så mye og ofte at jeg tror det må være en slags stil hun har. Det er ikke alltid man trenger en komma før men, jeg lar det være fra tid til annen sjøl, men som i setningen over, er det galt å ikke ha komma.
«[…] som sa de mer […]», s. 95 - en setning som kan forståes veldig gammeldags i formen, og også som at noe sa dem mer. Hvorfor bruker hun ikke dem her? Det er bare forvirrende for ei som skriver radikalt bokmål sjøl.
«Som er det allerede langt over … », «som var hun en liten skikkelse» er et uttrykk som går igjen i teksten hennes. Det må være noe hun har bestemt seg for, at det er sånn hun skal skrive «som om det var». Som var det et eventyr.
Og seriøst?
«Som var det meningen at vi skulle treffes. Som har noe flettet kroppene våre sammen […] noe har insistert, inni all tid, på at før eller siden skulle det bli oss.», s. 39
Åh gosh. Så store følelser, jeg skjønner ikke hvordan det i 2025 (eller egentlig i 2023 da boka blei skrevet) å tegne kjærligheten med så store og overfladiske ord.
Jeg kommer ikke til å huske en eneste scene, en eneste ting fra boka. Om fjorten dager, eller tre måneder, når jeg skal fortelle om boka jeg ikke kommer til å huske tittelen på eller hva den handlet om, veit jeg at jeg aldri kommer til å lese Ørstavik igjen.
Boka blei kjøpt fordi alle snakker så varmt om bøkene hennes. Jeg aksepterer at det er jeg som er problemet her.
September 21, 2024
“No one at home ever said they loved me. If I'd asked, I know they would have said yes, Mamma and Pappa, of course they loved me. Only I didn't ask, part of the reason being that I didn't want Pappa getting angry. And of course it was such an unquestionable thing. Like god loving mankind. It's something you know. Why couldn't I feel it?”
So starts this book in which the author, a writer, recounts her relationship with a much younger man, M, from whom she fears violence, and remembers the threat of violence in the family in which she grew up, from which her mother fled.
There are two interwoven narratives. There is the one above, which sounds like a memoir, and there is the novel that the writer is trying to write. This novel sounds highly autobiographical. Both protagonists are recovering from a bereavement. Both are dating a much younger man. But the frame narrative is the one that has the constant fear of domestic violence, which seems to be the fundamental theme of the book.
What distinguished this book was the quality of the prose. She tended to write long paragraphs, sometimes containing rambling sentences full of comma-separated phrases, such as this one: “It's like we've gone behind a curtain and discovered a hidden place, the pond at the centre of everything, a place where there's no through-wind anymore, where everything that isn't carried along on the whirling current instead loses momentum and is deposited at the side and then just lies there, hesitantly almost, until enough detritus has collected and something else takes over and sort of shoves it into motion, gets it going again, a little bit more, come on, only then, eventually, when it's no longer possible to get any further, when there's nothing else left to come and carry it along, it all just collects at the side again, in the stagnant water.” (p 60) She has an inconsistent relationship with question-marks, as here: “How long does the beginning last. When does the beginning melt into something else, and become a person's days. And when do those days change, and become something else still.” (p 14) The idiosyncrasies were unimportant, what I loved was the way she could write about some transcendent ideas is very simple terms yet at the same time produce prose that seemed full of illumination. Look at that quote about the pond again. Isn't it brilliant?
So starts this book in which the author, a writer, recounts her relationship with a much younger man, M, from whom she fears violence, and remembers the threat of violence in the family in which she grew up, from which her mother fled.
There are two interwoven narratives. There is the one above, which sounds like a memoir, and there is the novel that the writer is trying to write. This novel sounds highly autobiographical. Both protagonists are recovering from a bereavement. Both are dating a much younger man. But the frame narrative is the one that has the constant fear of domestic violence, which seems to be the fundamental theme of the book.
What distinguished this book was the quality of the prose. She tended to write long paragraphs, sometimes containing rambling sentences full of comma-separated phrases, such as this one: “It's like we've gone behind a curtain and discovered a hidden place, the pond at the centre of everything, a place where there's no through-wind anymore, where everything that isn't carried along on the whirling current instead loses momentum and is deposited at the side and then just lies there, hesitantly almost, until enough detritus has collected and something else takes over and sort of shoves it into motion, gets it going again, a little bit more, come on, only then, eventually, when it's no longer possible to get any further, when there's nothing else left to come and carry it along, it all just collects at the side again, in the stagnant water.” (p 60) She has an inconsistent relationship with question-marks, as here: “How long does the beginning last. When does the beginning melt into something else, and become a person's days. And when do those days change, and become something else still.” (p 14) The idiosyncrasies were unimportant, what I loved was the way she could write about some transcendent ideas is very simple terms yet at the same time produce prose that seemed full of illumination. Look at that quote about the pond again. Isn't it brilliant?
August 26, 2024
This is a novel posing the question what is love? At times it is mesmerizing, and at others perplexing as it toggles between multiple stories. These stories are for the most part presented in outline form with little depth, lots of missing information, and large amounts of pop psychology interspersed at appropriate moments to explain the actions of various characters.
The overarching story concerns the main character, a Norwegian author, who grew up in a dysfunctional family where violence and abuse were the norm. After divorcing her first husband, and becoming ensconced in middle age and singleness, she met and married a musician. Their loving relationship was cut short by his sudden death. Then about a year after his death and having decided she would never have another loving relationship, she met a man 17 years her junior, and engaged in an affair with him. The man was abusive, and at times violent towards her, and at other times loving. Yet she refused to terminate the affair preferring to replicate her parents relationship prior to their divorce, in an effort to save her lover from repeating her family’s mistakes.
Hidden within the main story is a parallel story that is not well developed. It concerns another person her age who has a similar background, and who may in fact be the author. It’s very unclear and muddled. All the evidence points to her being a character in a novel that the author is attempting to write, but is unable to complete due to writer’s block. She also becomes involved in an affair with a younger person. In this instance it’s a high school student. However, the details of the affair, and its ending are sparse, and remain an enigma.
The novel after multiple twists and turns appears to reach the conclusion that for the most part love cannot be equated with an abusive, violent relationship. Yet, arguments can be made to the contrary given the conflicting narratives, and the inconclusive feel of the ending.
The book rates 2.5 stars.
The overarching story concerns the main character, a Norwegian author, who grew up in a dysfunctional family where violence and abuse were the norm. After divorcing her first husband, and becoming ensconced in middle age and singleness, she met and married a musician. Their loving relationship was cut short by his sudden death. Then about a year after his death and having decided she would never have another loving relationship, she met a man 17 years her junior, and engaged in an affair with him. The man was abusive, and at times violent towards her, and at other times loving. Yet she refused to terminate the affair preferring to replicate her parents relationship prior to their divorce, in an effort to save her lover from repeating her family’s mistakes.
Hidden within the main story is a parallel story that is not well developed. It concerns another person her age who has a similar background, and who may in fact be the author. It’s very unclear and muddled. All the evidence points to her being a character in a novel that the author is attempting to write, but is unable to complete due to writer’s block. She also becomes involved in an affair with a younger person. In this instance it’s a high school student. However, the details of the affair, and its ending are sparse, and remain an enigma.
The novel after multiple twists and turns appears to reach the conclusion that for the most part love cannot be equated with an abusive, violent relationship. Yet, arguments can be made to the contrary given the conflicting narratives, and the inconclusive feel of the ending.
The book rates 2.5 stars.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
September 30, 2024
Read in translation
I hesitated between three and four stars here. I was truly invested in the characters - both narrators and other participants. I was intrigued by the form, and the narrative method, and I will most certainly look out for more from this author (new to me when I received this book in paperback).
Why not more stars? Well, I did find it a little repetitive - and sometimes struggled to keep focus on the shifting narratives. (I realise this probably says as much about me as about the book). But in the end I felt as though I had accompanied the author on a journey through two interlinked uneasy love narratives - the 'author' of the book, in love with a younger man; and then the subject of the book the 'author' is writing, another difficult love relationship. All set within a larger background of previous family relationships.
I liked the way she moved easily between the two narratives - not signalling, just relying on the reader to spot when the change happens (I have no objection to that in this postmodern age).
And some episodes are riveting.
So in the end - I really wanted to finish it, to find out what conclusion the novel reached. And applauded the way she refused a 'pat' ending to both stories.
I hesitated between three and four stars here. I was truly invested in the characters - both narrators and other participants. I was intrigued by the form, and the narrative method, and I will most certainly look out for more from this author (new to me when I received this book in paperback).
Why not more stars? Well, I did find it a little repetitive - and sometimes struggled to keep focus on the shifting narratives. (I realise this probably says as much about me as about the book). But in the end I felt as though I had accompanied the author on a journey through two interlinked uneasy love narratives - the 'author' of the book, in love with a younger man; and then the subject of the book the 'author' is writing, another difficult love relationship. All set within a larger background of previous family relationships.
I liked the way she moved easily between the two narratives - not signalling, just relying on the reader to spot when the change happens (I have no objection to that in this postmodern age).
And some episodes are riveting.
So in the end - I really wanted to finish it, to find out what conclusion the novel reached. And applauded the way she refused a 'pat' ending to both stories.
March 10, 2025
A year after the death of her husband, the narrator falls in love with a man fifteen years younger - it’s an intense connection, but one laced with insecurity…
I really appreciate Ørstavik’s writing - it’s emotionally astute without being overly sentimental - and I enjoyed this exploration of a darker side of love and relationships. Tackling a complicated and complex subject, it’s an introspective dive into how our childhood and resulting insecurities shape us and our approach to relationships, the way we love, and crucially, what we accept as love. There’s an undercurrent of fear and violence throughout.
The narrator is an author and the story jumps between hers and the characters she is writing, as well as between her childhood and present. It felt a bit jumbled together, which does reflect the messiness of real life, particularly when abuse is involved, but it was a lot for my tired brain when I follow and I found myself a little confused at times.
Reading Ti Amo before this one isn’t necessary as Stay With Me stands up on its own, but it does give some context to the narrator’s previous relationship and emotional landscape.
A charged, introspective exploration of how our childhood and insecurities affect our approach to relationships and acceptance of love.
I really appreciate Ørstavik’s writing - it’s emotionally astute without being overly sentimental - and I enjoyed this exploration of a darker side of love and relationships. Tackling a complicated and complex subject, it’s an introspective dive into how our childhood and resulting insecurities shape us and our approach to relationships, the way we love, and crucially, what we accept as love. There’s an undercurrent of fear and violence throughout.
The narrator is an author and the story jumps between hers and the characters she is writing, as well as between her childhood and present. It felt a bit jumbled together, which does reflect the messiness of real life, particularly when abuse is involved, but it was a lot for my tired brain when I follow and I found myself a little confused at times.
Reading Ti Amo before this one isn’t necessary as Stay With Me stands up on its own, but it does give some context to the narrator’s previous relationship and emotional landscape.
A charged, introspective exploration of how our childhood and insecurities affect our approach to relationships and acceptance of love.
December 23, 2024
Wow can this author write! The first few pages had me blown away with how words could be used to get to the heart of a complex matter: love. This book is soul-searching within the framework of building two possible characters for a novel, so while it’s in part a story, it is more of an exploration of how we learn to love, about love, as children and the impact that has on our choices as adults. Two characters lead this introspection, one from the first person voice. As a child, she craved family love, yet never received it—some questionable choices as an adult can be explained in part by a gap she is trying to fill. The second lead character is told in third person, as she copes with the loss of her soul mate. Both of these individuals (first person more so) examine life and love from a perspective of middle/later life. These characters are not fully built out (each would make their own excellent novels if the author pursues this, and I would definitely read then), but rather are used as fodder to explore the complexity of human love. Very easy reading, but more of a thought provoker than tale. I will look for more from this author! 4.5 stars
February 10, 2025
It tells the story of our narrator who grew up in an abusive household and can't help herself but enters a relationship only to repeat the same pattern, in fact, these two phases of her life bleeds into one another - as in one paragraph she could be describing her relationship with M and then another sentence remembering what her father did to her mother. A middle aged woman reduced to the little girl craving for her father's warmth.
It is the narration of an unhealed woman, she is sensitive, anxious and insecure. Reading her has been claustrophobic, I have even detached myself from it a couple of times only to find my old self in her over and over again. It's a constant theme of forgiving men yet so little compassion for herself. Every raise of his voice is soothed over by remembering the tenderness of his actions, every cold gaze is interpreted as an invitation to look for the warmth that once existed. Every hurt forces you to reflect on who hurt him just to dissociate from the fact that he hurt you - because facing that would mean confronting what that makes you.
It's a long whine of begging someone to stay, making it aptly titled.
It is the narration of an unhealed woman, she is sensitive, anxious and insecure. Reading her has been claustrophobic, I have even detached myself from it a couple of times only to find my old self in her over and over again. It's a constant theme of forgiving men yet so little compassion for herself. Every raise of his voice is soothed over by remembering the tenderness of his actions, every cold gaze is interpreted as an invitation to look for the warmth that once existed. Every hurt forces you to reflect on who hurt him just to dissociate from the fact that he hurt you - because facing that would mean confronting what that makes you.
It's a long whine of begging someone to stay, making it aptly titled.
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